Deep magic second coll.., p.40
Deep Magic - Second Collection, page 40
part #2 of Deep Magic Collection Series
“You can be my servant”—Arsen went on as if not having heard him—“and scrub my floors.”
Aria struggled to shut them out, pressing her head into the bed. She didn’t want to hear their terrible talk of violence and destruction. Killing the dragon was . . . a perversion.
A worthless perversion, the voice inside her head rumbled again.
The world dropped away as it filled her.
The magic cannot be stolen, it must be freely given.
Aria blinked in the darkness. In spite of her fear at the intrusive voice, the idea stunned her. Magic could be given? How would such a thing even work? Where had the idea come from?
Me, the voice answered.
Aria trembled.
Who are you? She sent the thought back out, unsure if it would be heard or if there was even anything out there to hear it.
Perhaps she was ill and didn’t know it, fever raging through her brain and causing her to hear voices that weren’t—
I am called Kilauea.
The word didn’t sound familiar. If this was truly some imagining, she had no idea how her mind was creating it.
Kilauea.
She tested the word on her tongue, forming the shape without sound. It was foreign. It didn’t feel like something she could have invented on her own.
She felt rather than heard the laughter in her head.
The word is not of your making. It is my name.
The fine hairs on Aria’s arms lifted. A chill worked down her back. How could this be? How could she hear the voice of another in her head? Was this some magic?
Yes. It is my magic.
Aria pinched the flesh on her wrist to be sure she was still awake. She knew of no magic that could send one person’s thoughts to another.
You know nothing of magic at all. Also, I am not a person.
The air caught in her chest, stuck like a piece of dry bread in her throat.
I am a dragon.
Her skin flushed hot and cold at the same time. The air in her lungs exploded from her lips all at once, making her choke. She used the coughing to try to cover the gasp that had escaped. She need not have worried. The snores of her brothers came to her ears as the room around her came back into focus, Shep’s strangled and thin like a goat suffocating, and Arsen’s deep and jagged, like a bear hunting its enemies through its dreams.
How could this be real? Even if it were, why would a dragon use its magic to speak to her?
I heard your thoughts, came the immediate answer. You think it disrespectful for men to slaughter my kind.
Yes, that was truth.
If a man harmed another man to steal his coin, he was guilty of thievery and might lose his home, his family, even his life. Yet men killed dragons to steal their magic as sport. It left a sour taste in her mouth.
You think thus because you have honor, the dragon—Kilauea—said. This is what called to me.
A warm flush spread through her. No one had ever said anything kind about her virtues or her thoughts.
Mankind is like a pack of dogs, fighting for every scrap. In the midst of such violence, your honor shines like a beacon.
Except dogs were generally good and loyal, while men were rarely so.
Some men are good, Kilauea disputed. Just not the ones you have known in your short life.
Aria’s mind exploded with thoughts and questions at his words. What else about her life and what she knew was different from the reality of others?
There was no answer from Kilauea.
Was her life truly so short? It felt endless to her. How long did dragons live for her life to be short by comparison?
In truth, we live forever. Again his words startled her, freezing her thoughts in place.
Forever . . . the word stretched out in her mind like an endless expanse of stars against the night sky.
Although after the metamorphase our slumber is very deep.
Another word she was not familiar with. What was this metamorphase?
Once we reach maturity, we enter a time of change—the metamorphase. The molten rock that fills our veins begins to cool. It forms a chrysalis, like the cocoon of a caterpillar, made of stone. The stone grows thicker and thicker until our fire is confined very deep inside. And so we slumber, not truly gone, but no longer awake, our fires linked to each other and to the burning heart of the world deep beneath the ground.
The idea was extraordinary and strangely beautiful.
Surely men would not ravage dragons the way they did if they knew.
You are wrong. Kilauea’s voice was subdued. Consider the trees. They are so ancient that their thoughts are like gentle sighs against the grass, yet man does not hesitate to cut them down. Houses, chairs, even kindling is more important to mankind than understanding that the trees have life and magic of their own.
He was right. Even if people understood, they would not change. Their own needs were too important to them to stop what they had always done. Their lives were like sparks, here and then gone, and they filled it with whatever they could grasp without thought to what they were taking.
A tear slipped down Aria’s face.
You are like them, yet you are so different from them.
She wanted it to be true, but she knew it wasn’t. Not really. She ate the meat her father provided for their table. She picked flowers to make her mother smile. Aria, too, did what she had to so that her brief life would have meaning, not pausing to consider whether the flowers had life and magic of their own, or what it meant for her to take it.
You consider it now.
It was overwhelming to think of. So many fragile strands of life all around that no one noticed, yet that anyone could see if they just looked.
Aria sighed. Perhaps it was enough to have made just this one connection. To think that such a majestic beast had heard her thoughts, had said she had honor, this was something she would hold in her heart throughout her short life.
A life that would soon change, whether she wished it or not. While Arsen was the seventh son glowing in the light of their father’s pride, Aria was the shadow that fell on the ground behind him. She would have no chance at the glory and honor a man could achieve. Instead she would be married off, sold to the highest bidder like a goat or pig. Or, as Arsen had so callously noted, she would find her place in the convent, cloistered away and buried under dark robes, forever lost in obscurity.
Aria’s only hope was to find a member of the FIST and convince them to let her join. Faithful, Incorruptible Seekers of Truth—a group of women put in place to uphold the law, unable to be set aside by any but their own. It was the dream that kept her from giving up, and the reason why she secretly trained. To be one of those fierce women dedicated to justice and truth was the only thing she had ever wanted since the night her dreams had first shown her the tall, strong woman outfitted in golden armor, her dark hair in a single braid down the middle of her back. Aria didn’t know what the woman’s face looked like. In her dreams, the woman always faced away. All Aria knew was that the woman was a lady of the FIST. She knew that as surely as she knew that they were her only hope of escaping the grim destiny before her.
2
The riotous sounds and sights of the New Day festival greeted them well outside the gates of Richton. Everywhere the trees fluttered with ribbons and banners, and musicians filled the air with their music. Wagons choked the wide road into town, forcing travelers to hold their horses to a walk that grew steadily slower as they neared the city. The air was thick with the smell of roasting meats and bread, mingled with the odor of unwashed bodies and dust. The dry ground, churned by countless wheels and hooves, filled the air with a brown haze that coated the tongue and left grit between teeth.
Aria was careful to breathe through her nose as she tried to drink it all in. Her eyes saw the crowds, heard the cacophony of people, but her thoughts were turned inward. Much as she’d tried, she had not heard Kilauea’s voice again after waking, and a traitorous doubt filled her that it had only been a vivid dream.
“Ho, young Arsen!”
Aria looked over as a beleaguered horse veered closer, striving mightily to support the short, rotund man on its back.
“Are you ready for the day?” Eyes like dark marbles half lost in folds of skin stared at her twin, his fish-pale lips curved in a smile.
Aria turned her face away, the familiar shiver of disgust at the town magistrate wriggling through her body. She focused instead on Arsen’s fierce grin.
“I am looking forward to it, Master Wells.”
“As are we.” His words dripped with greasy anticipation. “Your brother Joren will be here to watch, I hear.”
Aria started with surprise. She had not known Joren would attend. She hadn’t seen him since last New Day. The lord protector had taken him on as a squire that very day, after dropping a bag of coin into Father’s waiting hands.
“He will look a sprig beside a mighty oak when I slay a beast ten times the one he did.”
Aria couldn’t help but peek to see what Master Wells’s reaction was to the boast. His unkempt eyebrows rose on his forehead, but he simply gave a half nod at the pompous bragging, his face unreadable. He turned to Father.
“Be sure to find the main arena before midday. Thistle is already down below in the paddocks. I’ll see that he meets young Arsen there.”
Master Wells’s apprentice was steady and had a gentle voice. Aria liked the idea that he was there with the beasts. Her heart ached for the poor creatures, knowing what was to come, especially the young dragon their father had acquired for Arsen. She couldn’t bear the thought that it might be hurt—or worse, killed—but the alternative was that her twin would be the one suffering, and she could not bear that either. Truly, her heart had never been so troubled.
“What other news?” Father was asking Master Wells.
The magistrate leaned closer to the wagon, his eyes shining like dark pebbles. “There is a rumor spreading that we have a special visitor,” he said quietly.
Aria could only see the side of her father’s face, but she could feel the heat of his gaze at this news. “Oh?”
Wells nodded. “Lady Prudence.”
The noise around them faded into the background. Aria felt each pounding beat of her heart against her ribs like mallets on a drum.
Lady Prudence was here!
There was silence from the front of the wagon.
“I must admit,” her father said, his voice low and strangely tense, “I am surprised one of the ladies would come to our small town.”
He stared at Master Wells, their eyes locked. Aria couldn’t help but think there was some unspoken conversation happening, some message passing between them she did not understand.
“Not so small,” Wells corrected. He waved an arm at the thickening crowd. “Our town has grown.”
“Yes,” Father answered, and Aria wondered at his tone. His voice sounded contemplative, but it was threaded with something else as well. Something she could not place.
“Well, I must be off,” Master Wells said, his tasty morsel of news delivered. “I am needed elsewhere.”
“Of course. We’ll see you at the trials.”
Master Wells urged his horse off the road, edging around the throngs that slowed the pace on the hard dirt, but not before casting a sidelong glance at Aria as he went. His eyes found hers, their flat hard surface gleaming like the orbs of a dead fish. They lingered on her face, sliding down her neck and continuing on their southward journey, sending a wave of revulsion surging through her. She looked away quickly, acid filling her throat. She felt as if he’d put his hands on her, touching without physical contact. It made her want to scrub her skin to wash away the oily residue that his gaze left behind.
“What does it mean, Goren?” Mother stared at Father, her face pinched and already looking tired although it was still early.
“She could just be passing through,” Father mused. But Aria didn’t believe it and neither did Mother, who quietly waited for him to continue. “Or perhaps she is here for a reason.”
To find new recruits, Aria thought, her whole body beginning to tingle with anticipation. What other reason could there be?
“They are soldiers, in nature if not in name.” Father’s voice was barely loud enough to carry to Aria’s ears. “Perhaps someone has called for arbitration.”
Here in Richton? Aria was confused. What could anyone need decided that the magistrate or lord protector couldn’t reconcile?
Aria shook her head. Even if that was why Lady Prudence was here, it would not deter her. She’d dreamed of this day, and she would find a way to make it happen. If the lady was here, Aria would find her and ask to join the FIST. She would volunteer herself and swear her fealty, and nothing anyone said or did after that would be able to undo it.
Excitement swelled within her. She wanted to push the people out of the way so the wagon could go faster. Once Father and Arsen were busy elsewhere Aria would be free to begin her search.
The sheer mass of bodies on the road forced the wagons to find places to pull over, unloading families and wares to be carried the rest of the way on foot. Father was finally forced to do the same, pulling them under the shade of a sprawling oak tree. Aria scrambled off the back of the wagon, eager to be on her way.
“Aria.”
She looked up as her father came around the wagon.
“Stay close. I need you to help carry Arsen’s gear.”
Stags’ horns! Was she to never be freed? Lady Prudence could at this very moment be walking down a nearby street, or standing at one of the tables that sold meat pies in the plaza. There were a million places she could be, and Aria needed to check each one.
“Here.” Arsen shoved a heavy bag into her arms.
She staggered a bit, but her arms had grown strong from her practice, and she was able to sling it over her shoulder. Arsen lifted one eyebrow but said nothing as they headed away from the wagon, joining the streams of people heading toward the plaza and the arena on the other side.
Even the walking was slow going, bodies pressed so closely together that they trod on each other’s feet. They were soon all dripping with sweat. It was a warm New Day. Aria noticed Arsen glancing at her.
“You’re getting taller,” he said, mistaking her growing muscles for a change in her height. “Maybe after I kill the dragon I can employ you in my household.”
She gritted her teeth and forced herself to nod. It wouldn’t do to let anyone know her true intentions. Arsen would find a way to stop her if he could, if only to ensure that all the glory of the day was saved for him alone. Thankfully the noise of the crowd and the festivities increased, cutting off all means of conversation. Aria used the distraction as an opportunity to scan the throngs around her, lifting up on her toes to try to peer over the heads of others, but she found no sign of Lady Prudence.
By the time they reached the plaza it was past midmorn. Father threaded his way through the main crush of people to the less crowded side, urging them to hurry. Aria looked over her shoulder. If Lady Prudence was in the plaza, she was lost in a sea of faces and bodies.
A hand grabbed her and shoved her forward. “Come on.” Father’s voice was gruff.
She cursed her luck, but swore that once they had arrived at the arena she would find a way to escape back to the plaza for a more thorough search.
The going grew easier as they left the plaza behind, and the white walls of the arena soon loomed ahead of them. Aria heard a clamor of sounds from inside the stone structure, issued from both men and beasts.
The young dragon Father had found for Arsen’s trial was in there. What would it look like? Would it hear her thoughts, as Kilauea had?
They entered the outer walls through an arched opening, making Aria feel as if she’d been swallowed as the shadows absorbed them and stroked her sweaty skin with cool fingers. Here, beneath the seats that towered seven levels above their heads, the atmosphere crackled with tension and anticipation. They passed other families, all with boys near Arsen’s age. Some were busy fitting armor, others practicing, and some just resting from the journey. Aria wondered what was going through their minds. Were they eager? Bored?
Afraid?
“There.” Father was pointing ahead and to their left.
The long passage was dark. Aria couldn’t make out anything but the walls and darker blots where stalls and staging rooms were. Then slowly the shadows took form, and she saw the shape of someone leaning against the wall, one arm lifted.
Thistle.
From behind him, a cloud seemed to appear. Aria saw him turn and look, moving carefully away from the bars of a door. He gave one last look before turning and walking toward them with a smile, reaching out a hand for Father to shake.
“We needed a might big stall for that one,” Thistle said.
He turned to shake Arsen’s hand.
“I want to see him.”
Thistle nodded, heading back toward the door and waving for Arsen to follow. Aria watched them, rooted to the spot until a hand pushed on her back.
“Go on. Thistle will show you where to put Arsen’s things.”
She looked at her father in confusion. Wasn’t he staying?
“Your mother and I must find Master Wells,” he said. “You’ll stay here and help Thistle get Arsen ready.”
Her heart turned into a stone that fell to the soles of her feet. She would be stuck here until Arsen’s trial, unable to get away, unable to search for Lady Prudence. Without waiting for her to move, Father headed back the way they’d come, Mother trailing after him. Aria was left alone in the moldering air of the arena.
“Why can’t I see him?” Arsen’s voice was loud even in the noise of the arena.
“He’s been doing that all morning; filling the stall with smoke.”
“I want to see his eyes.”
“Sorry, mate, it’s not like I can go in there and wave it away for you.”
Arsen turned on Thistle with narrowed eyes, but said nothing. Aria hurried toward them, the heaviness of the bag weighing on her shoulder suddenly as it had failed to do on the way there, making her feel as if she were being slowly crushed beneath it. With each step closer to the stall, it grew heavier. Smoke cascaded from between the bars of the stall door, curling through the air around her like a snake.
